Hiding the Truth
by CatrienStardust
Summary: "Truth comes in many forms, and for Cameron, it was this, the dragging of the blade across her pale flesh..." Cameron-Centric; With HousexCameron implied. T for subject manner. You've been warned.
1. She Cuts

**So this talks about cutting and etc, so if that's not for you, please, stop reading. You've been warned.**

It was easy to hide the truth. Easier with them, because none of them payed attention long enough to see. Truth comes in many forms, and for Cameron, it was this, the dragging of the blade across her pale flesh. It had become a ritual. Home, shower, eat, cut. Every night the knife sunk into her flesh, joining the pale pink scars and the fresher burgundy marks. Each line, some jagged, some eerily smooth, held a unique story. Each cut held the truth. But no one was looking close enough to see it. So every day she wore long sleeves or chunky bracelets. It was easy to hide the truth.

To be fair, this was just on chapter in an entire book. This had all started in the seventh grade, when she was young and beautiful. Her story was not unique. Back then, she hadn't dealt with that much pain, aside from her father, but even then he wasn't special or evil, he just didn't care. She hadn't been able to sleep. She remembered that night so clearly, how loud the rain was, beating down on the house. She had just been wandering around the house, when she found the knife. It was so sharp, and beautiful, in a frightening way. The blade was long and smooth and silver. It cut through newspapers, and her hair, and string, and, when she placed it against her wrist, it cut through her.

Since then cutting had become a ritual, an escape. Most of the scars were from House, one for the date, the kiss, the hug, every look and banter. Each had a separate wound, a memoir. To Cameron, cutting made her stronger. If she could handle the dizzying pain of her self-mutilation, surely she could handle him? But the truth was simple, she couldn't. So she just kept on cutting, over and over, wanting to be noticed. And until that day, she would hide the truth.


	2. He knew

He saw them first, on a Wednesday. Cameron was early to the office, tidying and making coffee before the others arrived, like a puppy, eager to please her master. He watched her from the balcony, seeing her preform her tasks as he watched, undetected. It was when she placed the coffee cup on his desk when her sleeve rode up and he saw the ugly red gashes blemishing her perfect skin. For a second, his jaw dropped, taking in the wrist with the fresh red wounds and the older pink scars, evidence of her pain and abuse. For a second, he felt bad, guilty, because part of him knew that it was him fueling the desire to mark the soft skin. His jaw closed, then, and his face became expressionless, his eyes scrunched tight. He stormed in, then, slamming the door with a loud BANG, startling Cameron.

"House! Coffee is on your de-"

House cut her off by fiercely grabbing her wrist and pulling up the sleeve, taking in the scars and cuts all the way up to the inside of her elbow. Meanwhile, Cameron went through a series of emotions. Shock, fear, anger, sadness, guilt, then, finally, she looked away, ashamed. His hands were to strong to fight against, probably bruising her flesh. Tears stung her eyes, and the urge to grab the closest butter knife and just tear her flash pulsed through her.

House looked into her face. Emotions went through him, and the urge to comfort or even hold Cameron frightened him.

"Why?" His voice was terse and gruff, urgent, as his fingers traveled up her arm, feeling each cut with surprising tenderness. He felt her shiver, from him or from the pain? It didn't matter.

Cameron didn't look at his face, or respond, she just looked away.

"I said why, goddamit!" He cursed, releasing her.

She shuddered. "You."

__________

After that, everything and nothing was the same. House treated her the same, maybe worse, but when they were alone, concern shown through his blue eyes. He didn't know what to do. How long would it be until she cut to deep?

House couldn't sleep. Visions of her skin filled his head.

Cameron couldn't sleep. Visions of him filled her head.

Those insomniatic nights were when Cameron cut harder then ever. After all, he knew the truth; He just didn't care.


	3. She Knows

Months pass, years pass. Allison Cameron moves on, and soon, she slips away, not only from Princeton Plainsboro, but from the mind of everyone.

She moves out west, to California, where the sun shines and the ocean waves crash upon the beach.

She cuts less, now, the lines less frequent, shallow, until they're mere scratches, barely visible amongst the sea of skin.

Of course, the scars will still remain. They'll always remain.

But instead of lecturing her, instead of proving her non-worth, they speak, telling stories, a detailed outline of a time of her life, a man that didn't care. It used to make her sad, thinking about how he didn't ever love her, didn't ever care.

One day she wakes up, however, and realizes she hasn't cut in a month. Not only that, but the scars are fading. And when she studies them, all 156 scars underneath the sunshine, she realizes that it's not sad anymore.

For the first time in a long time, she walks outside with a smile on her face. She, for once, hears the waves crash against the beach. She laughs with the wind, and realizes just how warm the sunshine really is.

She's happy. After all; she knows the truth, now, and she realizes she doesn't care.


End file.
